


Just Right

by ordinarily (tofty)



Series: Design-Build [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofty/pseuds/ordinarily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is a rich, successful guy who can get laid anytime he wants, but that's no longer enough. He likes to dominate through rough sex, and it's even better when he can mindfuck them as well - he uses a drug that leaves the person coordinated but prone to suggestion, and even better, prevents memory formation. Jenny is Jared's underling at the office, and it's clear to everyone that she has a crush on their boss, but she's so shy. It gets him off that she has no idea he's been drugging her, pinning her down and fucking her, making her tell him how much she likes it, when she can barely get up the courage to speak to him during the day. Jared's getting a little bit obsessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Right

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fourth round of the blindfold kink meme, as a fill to the above prompt.

(Takeoff)

It's dark out, and the air conditioner's long since turned itself up for the night, so the windows in his office are open to allow a little breeze into the room. Jenny and Jared are the only ones left in the building, and they'll be here for a while yet while they hammer this bid into shape. They've been working for hours, days even, because right now, they're competing against everybody in town for a hell of a lot less work, and there's no room for carelessness, no padding against the possibility of oversight. Every detail counts. And so they've barely come up for air today, much less lunch, and now the end is in sight and it's eight and Jared's *starving*, and also, well, starving; he's been thinking of nothing but budgets and estimates and subcontractors for he doesn't know how long, and he's ready for a change of pace.

He leaves Jenny leaning into the monitor on his drafting table, checking dimensions on the screen against dimensions on the plans unrolled in front of her, and wanders over to the breakroom refrigerator, where he grabs a Mountain Dew for himself and Diet Dr. Pepper for her. He opens them both while he's there, quickly adds a couple of drops to Jenny's from the little bottle he keeps in his pocket, and heads back with his heart hammering, which you'd think by now he'd be blasé about this, but somehow he never is. He stops at the door, watching her, her toes tucked under the chair's footrest, then wanders over and hands the can over her shoulder. "It's getting kind of late," he says. "Are you hungry? Ready for a break?" He fingers the vial in his pocket, glass smooth and cool against his fingertips, as she takes a sip of her drink. His breath shortens.

Jenny just blushes and nods, her faint freckles fading into the pink of her cheeks. She adjusts her glasses by the arm, shifts a little on her seat, and the sound of her skirt, crumple-proof cotton scritching against the rough weave of the seat, has Jared instantly hard. He'd love just to yank her out of her chair and pull her into his lap, onto his dick, the fullness of the skirt settled modestly over them. But he has to wait for her to drink up, so he picks up the phone instead, and asks her if she has the number for his favorite downtown pizza place.

She does, of course -- you can always count on Jenny for stuff like this -- and she slips off his chair and to her own desk to pull her menu file. She moves past him, close enough for him to catch the scent of her skin. She smells like clover. She smells fresh and green.

:::

Jenny's a consummate professional in most ways. She can assemble a proposal with her eyes closed, put her hands on a job folder in ten seconds, write a flawless and stylish business letter. She's a workhorse of an assistant, and even a decorative one, in her little vintage dresses and sweaters. She's worth every penny of the salary the company pays her, and then some. Jared's been the envy of the office since she joined them last year.

She does have a drawback, though: the interactive part of the job flusters her. She's just a shy woman, it seems, and that's a fact that no amount of settling in has been able to overcome. She doesn't chat with her coworkers or make personal phone calls or speak otherwise unnecessarily, which Jared can't decide is a good thing (given his own tendency to dominate a conversation) or a bad thing (given her pleasingly gruff little voice).

Not only shy, but reserved, too, private enough that she usually eats lunch in her car, parked under the single tree in front of the building. Jared's driven past her many times on his own way to lunch, and she's got her seat tilted back and her sunglasses on, sometimes with a book, sometimes just munching on something. Never on her cell phone -- he doesn't even know if she *has* a cell phone -- never rushing to meet someone, and if she has errands to run, she runs them after she eats under that tree. She likes clothes older than she is. She skewers her long hair with chopsticks. She wears glasses.

Jared knows these things about her, but he knows little else. Nothing, for example, about her home life. Other women might talk about kids or cats or boyfriends, but not Jenny. Jared likes that about her. He likes that for him she doesn't exist outside the office. That he can never picture her, say, cooking, or scrubbing a toilet, or having a drink with a friend. That she doesn't hang around in the mornings talking about Survivor.

She is, in fact, the perfect office ornament. Like a clean-lined Knoll chair, sleek and referential and completely modern at the same time.

:::

Jared hangs up and they get back to work, him crunching final numbers at his desk -- a final formality -- and Jenny still at the drafting table. He keeps one eye on her as she sips her drink, watching the flush settle into the side of her cheek and creep down her throat. It's a flush that the office climate can't account for, not with the windows open on a spring night. A low, steady burn. "Hey, Jen," he says, finally.

She turns and looks him directly in the eyes for the first time all day. It's an action she finds virtually impossible during the normal course of the day, so yeah, that's good sign: excellent, in fact. Time to get started.

"Why don't you take off your cardigan for me," he says casually. "And then unzip your dress and pull it off your shoulders." She smiles at him, eyes heavy-lidded. "I think I might come on your tits later, maybe fuck them for a while." He takes her hand and moves it up to the placket of her sweater, and her fingers fumble at the top button. "Would you like that?"

She's looking down at herself, coordination just the slightest bit off, and Jared tips her chin up firmly. "Jenny, I asked you a question, and I'd like an answer."

She licks her lips. The lip gloss has worn off, and they're a bare, shining pink. Jared, distracted, thinks maybe he'll have her suck him off instead of fucking her tits. He'll have to see what he feels most like, by the time they get to that point.

"Sorry," she says, her voice stronger at times like this than at any other time. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Yeah, I'm sure you would." He pulls her opened cardigan down her arms, leaves it draping from her wrists in soft folds, and pinches her nipples. She gasps, and Jared smiles. "Where does this dress zip?" he asks curiously. (Her dresses are sometimes fastened unexpectedly, zippers down her side, thirty tiny buttons down the back, complicated ties at her shoulders or her nape or down the front.) Jenny turns around without answering, and displays a single zipper down her back. Ah, a simple one tonight.

Jared runs his hand up her back to the zipper tab and smiles when she shivers.

:::

As far as Jared knows, the rest their coworkers find Jenny something of a cipher, too. Except for her largely-contained but occasionally quite obvious crush on Jared, she is, seemingly, opaque. Jared gets teased about that crush a lot, sometimes enviously, sometimes mockingly, but never, he thinks, maliciously. It's one of Jenny's gifts that she doesn't piss people off, and so even though she hasn't really made friends with any of the staff, as far as he knows, no one bears her any ill-will. Even the most extrovert of them cuts her a little slack, because connecting with people is so obviously painful for her. And so the crush has become just another office story. An idiosyncrasy, like Jake's weekend camping trips or Kristen's seven dogs.

Jared does his best not to take advantage of it. Not during office hours, at least. He's always polite, always careful not to overstep, or to make her *too* uncomfortable (impossible *not* to make her uncomfortable, though, when his presence alone is more than enough to discomfit her). He'll admit to giving her the full dimpled-smile treatment, just to watch her blush, see her voice reduced to that little stammering flutter. But it's a small indulgence; it doesn't hurt anyone, and it's not in the least suspicious. Jared's a friendly guy, and everyone knows it. He smiles a lot, and that's just the way it is. There's no reason for anyone to think that some of his smiles are calculated to produce as precise a result as any estimate turned in to a client.

Anyway, he doesn't bother her during the day. After hours, though, that's a different story.

:::

By the time the pizza arrives, an hour after he's called in for it, he's relieved her of her dress and her sensible cotton bra and her chopsticks and her glasses, and she's down to her panties, hair falling over her shoulders in an untidy tangle. Her lips are red from kissing, nipples bitten and, from the way she jerks as he pinches her again, sore. He's kneeling between her splayed legs as she sprawls in his chair. Jared likes to imagine that the seat smells like her, now, smells like her cunt, they've done this often enough now, her dripping all over the seat and then him, or sometimes even her, sitting calmly in it the next day as though nothing's happened. Of course, as far as she knows, nothing _has_ happened.

At the sound of the front door buzzer, he leans back on his haunches and briefly considers sending her out to pay for the pizza like this. One day, he thinks, he might. He toys with ideas like this a lot. Maybe one day he'll have her blow the delivery boy, right there in the doorway while he waits for her in his office, listening to the wet noises she makes and jerking himself off slowly. He's not ready to share yet, though. Not quite.

He pulls her legs tighter around him and slips his fingers under the edge of her panties, two of them slipping straight into her wet cunt, sucking at him. She moans.

"You want more?" he asks, and she nods. He says, sharper now, "Answer me with words, Jenny. More?"

"Ye-yes," she gasps, the word fading out to a hiss as he presses his thumb against her clit and grinds. "Yes, I want more." She slips down in the chair a little, further onto his fingers and into his thumb, and he laughs. He slides his fingers back out of her and grasps her fingers instead, smearing her hand with her own wetness.

"I'm going to pay for the pizza," he says matter-of-factly, "so you'll just have to wait. You can wait, I know."

"Yes," she says roughly, obediently, and clears her throat. "I can wait."

"Good girl." He moves the hand that he's holding down, and the door buzzer sounds again. "I want you to hold my place, Jenny. Two fingers in your cunt and your thumb against your clit, so I'll remember what we were doing when I get back."

He turns briefly at the door, and sees that she's done just as he's asked, sitting there motionless except for her rapidly rising and falling chest, half her hand under the edge of her panties.

God.

:::

The first time he tried it on Jenny was not the first time he'd ever tried it. He'd used the drops twice before. Once with a random boy he picked up in a bar. Too risky; too much left to chance. Once with Sandy, whose tightly-controlled life meant that lost time was missed time, and she worried at those two missing hours until Jared broke up with her just so he didn't have to hear it any more. Too close; too settled into something different to work properly.

With Jenny, though. So far, it's just right. He gives the drops to her (and then gives it to her) only on days when they're working late, and much as he'd like to, he doesn't manufacture those days; he saves it for when they've genuinely got to put in the extra hours. He makes up for lost time, then, fucks her pretty much literally senseless, fast and hard or drawn out as long as he thinks he can. Tidies her up. Wakes her fully, calls her a cab and pays for the ride and tells her to take the next morning off. He even sees her to the door; he's a gentleman like that.

Sometimes he stays behind longer just to jerk off at the memory, the feel of her still smeared over his skin, the taste of her still on his breath.

:::

He gets back to his office with the pizza to find Jenny exactly where he left her. He fucking *loves* that about her, that limitless malleability. He slips the pizza on the desk and pulls her off her chair in one move, pushes her down and arranges her on the floor on her back, yanks off her panties and pulls her knees wide. He can see her clit for the first time tonight, and he's *hungry* for it, swollen and protruding just a little from her gleaming wet cunt, and he touches it, the barest brush, so he can hear her gasp. Waits for it. She doesn't disappoint; she never disappoints.

He looks slowly up along her long, slender torso, her shivery tits. Her throat. Her eyes, wide and myopic on his face, pupils dilated in spite of the bright fluorescent lights in the room. "Here's what's gonna happen," he says, and she gasps again. "Are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening," she says in a molasses-trickle of a voice.

"I'm going to fuck your throat while I go down on you, make you come once, then I'm going to roll you over and fuck you until you come again. And *then* I'll roll you back over and you're gonna jerk me off over those gorgeous tits," he says, smoothing his palms up her abdomen and over her nipples for emphasis, watching her back curve off the carpet as she arches into them. "That sound like a plan?"

Jenny shimmies her torso; her nipples slide firmly against his palms, and she smiles dreamily. "God, yes," she says.

"Oh, yeah? Want me to fuck you till you've got carpet burns? Till you scream? Till you can't think about anything else but my dick?"

"Mmm." She tugs at his hips and unbuttons the top button of his khakis. "Jared," she says, "that's all I've been thinking about for the last half hour."

Yeah, okay. Jared jumps up and starts to undress, but doesn't take his eyes off Jenny, unraveled on the floor at his feet; she's slipping her fingers, three of them now, into her cunt, and that's not a sight he wants to miss.

He'd been hungry, but he can't imagine stopping for pizza now; they can eat it cold later. And so they do; afterwards he cleans them up and dresses them again, leaves off her panties and bra and zips her dress over her bare skin, and settles her in his lap while they eat, her skirt foaming frivolously over them both the way he'd pictured as he was biding his time earlier. He can't resist slipping his fingers under up under them to push the side of his hand into the folds of her labia, getting them both slick-soaked all over again. But it's not as though she objects to that. She never does.

:::

In so many ways, it's an ideal situation. He does whatever he likes to her, and there are no consequences. He smears her over with his come, and she lets him. He shoves his dick in her so hard it hurts *him*, and she opens her legs wider, takes him in like she just wants more. He wonders if there's anything he can't make her do. Anything he can't shove into her. Anything he can't strip off her.

Every time, he pushes further; every time, she yields sweeter; every time, he comes harder. And every time he puts shy Jenny into a cab smelling like him rather than clover, hair awry and pulled hard, likely achy already and only moving tomorrow with the aid of aspirin, he knows he won't stop pushing. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

He should probably feel worse about that than he does.


End file.
